Tearing, biting at the cage
Frustration fueling fits of rage
A gentle slap, a subtle taunt
Raspy, ragged, growling want
Clutching fingers, pulsing sheath
Feel hot blood flow underneath
Tangled hair locked up in fist
All more reason to resist
Gripping tentacles of greed
Dredging up a latent need
Steady trickle feeds the lake
Conscience burning at the stake
Brandishing the devil's prong
Instinct burning, dark and strong
Holding down the hands of fate
Suck it up, you have to wait.
What I'm About
- Daggerella
- Portland, Maine, United States
- I'm a mystery wrapped in an enigma wrapped in a tortilla, deep fried to a golden crisp and smothered in sour cream and salsa. After the relatively short amount of years of living on this planet, only now do I feel like I have anything marginally interesting to say about anything. I hope to be able to write funny things for the most part, but don't be surprised if occasionally there appears some weird erotic fiction or a long-winded, philosophical monologue about the meaning of life. It just all depends on how I'm feeling on any given day. One this is for sure though, there will be cute pictures (and in all likelihood, videos) of bunnies and cats from time to time. So you've officially been warned...
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Glove Love
So I know I've made some remarks on here regarding some of my weird kinks and/or fetishes that seemingly have arisen out of nowhere, but I have somewhat of a confession to make: that's not entirely true. I mean, yes, some of them come as a surprise even to me- like, sometimes I'll be faced with something out of the ordinary that turns me on immensely, but I'll have no idea why that is, because it's never happened before. But there is one particular thing that I have a "thing" for that comes from a very specific place and time in my life. That thing would be my love for black gloves.
Now before you go all, "WTF Amy, you are one seriously fucked-up individual", please know that yes, I am, and also that you probably have at least one thing that does it for you too. Something that maybe you saw in a movie when you were probably too young and impressionable to have been seeing it, or something that you heard about from a friend who was telling you in the context of, "Oh, isn't that weird and gross?" while you were secretly thinking to yourself, "I soooo want to do that". Yes, I have a glove fetish. But it's not all-encompassing, mind you. It's not like I'm getting all sweaty over wearing rubber gloves to do the dishes, or scrub toilets or anything, nor am I hyperventilating at the thought of some guy wearing humongous bulky snowmobile mitts. It's a very specific thing, and it can best be split into two categories, of which I will attempt to explain my attractions...
Category A: black nitrile gloves
Ok, so first, allow me to demonstrate-
Uuuunnnhhhhh.....yeah, that's it. Right there. Ok, this one is relatively easy to explain. Ever since I started getting into tattoos and tattooing, I have been around boxes and boxes of these things. I have seen hands carefully slid inside them, and I've also seen them get split and break by a particularly rough insertion from someone who is impatient and doesn't want to take the time to get them on just so. In my book, there are very few things that will cause me to completely lose my train of thought mid-sentence faster than hearing the snap of these fuckers and seeing them on male hands that lead up to heavily tattooed arms. Add a light coating of Vaseline (used during the tattooing process- a lot of artists will stick a glob of it on the back of a glove so they can pull from it as the work goes along), and goddamn....(fans self with the nearest piece of paper available)...that shit is HOT. These gloves are God's gift to tattooing- now not to downplay the inherent sexiness of the regular white surgical gloves, oh no. Those are sexy, but in a different way. And ladies, if you wanna talk about having inappropriate feelings while having a gynecological exam (and I'm betting you don't)...well, just have a look at this and tell me you wouldn't let him put a gloved hand anywhere he wanted to...
Yes, Doctor.... (dabs sweat beads from forehead)
And then, of course, we have the other category:
Category B: black leather gloves
Again, first a demonstration:
I threw the last picture in not so much because it turns me on, but those are some badass fucking gloves, no? I totally want a pair. Perfect for bitch-slapping, methinks...
Anyway, yes. Black leather gloves. Now this has another very specific backstory- it all goes back to when I was around 16 or 17, and I had this boyfriend who was always home alone. His parents would go out of town and leave him there by himself, so naturally, we would hang out there a lot. Well, as kids will do, we found his parents' porn stash one night and decided to check some of them out. And as it turns out, his parents were a couple of kinky fucks. Lots of BDSM and rough sex, and not much else. I think there may have been one of those Playboy Playmate of the Year videos which, as anybody who has ever seen one will know, was basically just one long-ass tease. So after watching about 5 seconds of that, we were both like, "Umm, fuck this", and put in one of the other vids.
The movie we watched was one of those ones with an actual plot, and people with speaking parts (real words, not just fucking noises), and it was about this rich bitch who had this pussy of a husband, and she was verbally belittling him for being such a wuss. So he decided to teach her a lesson by hiring some dude to act as a thief and break into the house while he was gone and scare the crap out of her (funny how in porn movies, there are always a surplus of dudes who are ready and willing to take on such a task, as though all he had to do was look in the Yellow Pages under "Rapists For Hire" or something.."Oh- look honey, this one's licensed AND bonded!").
So yeah...anyway, the dude decides to hide in the backseat of the car, which is in the garage, and waits for her to get in the car to go somewhere. And right on cue (imagine that!), she appears and gets in the driver's seat. Then, when she goes to adjust the rear view mirror (who does that while the car is still in the garage?), she sees him. She tries to scream, but before she can cry out, he claps his hand, encased in a perfect black leather glove, over her mouth. She struggles, her moans muffled by his palm, and he sticks two fingers in her mouth, telling her gruffly to shut up.
Then, as you can well imagine, he proceeds to violate the fuck out of her, all while wearing the black gloves. He fingers her with the gloves on (that's an image I will never get out of my head as long as it's attached to my body), and puts his gloved hands around her neck while railing the shit out of her. Then, when it's time for the money shot, he shoots his load into his gloved palm and wipes it across her dirty slut mouth. (Ok, I added the "dirty slut" part for effect, but I felt it was needed. And it just sounds dirtier.)
Yeah, take it, bitch...lick it off....
Anyhow, that's where that fetish comes from. So if you were offended or grossed out by that, then all I can say is, why did you bother to read all the way to this point? I mean, all the potentially offensive stuff is up there. ^^^^ Seems like if it was so horrible, you would have clutched your pearls to your chest and turned away in disgust long ago. But hey, who am I to judge? I can't exactly claim anybody is odd for doing or not doing anything, really.
So, kids, I guess the moral of this story is, sex and sexuality can mean many different things to many different people. Sometimes it can take the form of black nitrile, other times it can show up as a clown fetish. (And NO, I do not have a clown fetish. Unless you count the wish for mass annihilation of clowns to be a fetish.) The important thing to remember is that at some point you yourself may end up finding out that something out of the ordinary really gets your gears turning, and you won't necessarily know why. But you know what? That's totally ok. Really. It's totally fine to just let yourself be turned on by something that isn't conventionally "sexy"- hell, variety is the spice of life, right? So take those Isotoners that have been packed away since last winter, slap them on some night, and see what develops, You never know what might happen.
I just wouldn't recommend hiding in the back seat of the car, unless you want to get maced or something...
Now before you go all, "WTF Amy, you are one seriously fucked-up individual", please know that yes, I am, and also that you probably have at least one thing that does it for you too. Something that maybe you saw in a movie when you were probably too young and impressionable to have been seeing it, or something that you heard about from a friend who was telling you in the context of, "Oh, isn't that weird and gross?" while you were secretly thinking to yourself, "I soooo want to do that". Yes, I have a glove fetish. But it's not all-encompassing, mind you. It's not like I'm getting all sweaty over wearing rubber gloves to do the dishes, or scrub toilets or anything, nor am I hyperventilating at the thought of some guy wearing humongous bulky snowmobile mitts. It's a very specific thing, and it can best be split into two categories, of which I will attempt to explain my attractions...
Category A: black nitrile gloves
Ok, so first, allow me to demonstrate-
Uuuunnnhhhhh.....yeah, that's it. Right there. Ok, this one is relatively easy to explain. Ever since I started getting into tattoos and tattooing, I have been around boxes and boxes of these things. I have seen hands carefully slid inside them, and I've also seen them get split and break by a particularly rough insertion from someone who is impatient and doesn't want to take the time to get them on just so. In my book, there are very few things that will cause me to completely lose my train of thought mid-sentence faster than hearing the snap of these fuckers and seeing them on male hands that lead up to heavily tattooed arms. Add a light coating of Vaseline (used during the tattooing process- a lot of artists will stick a glob of it on the back of a glove so they can pull from it as the work goes along), and goddamn....(fans self with the nearest piece of paper available)...that shit is HOT. These gloves are God's gift to tattooing- now not to downplay the inherent sexiness of the regular white surgical gloves, oh no. Those are sexy, but in a different way. And ladies, if you wanna talk about having inappropriate feelings while having a gynecological exam (and I'm betting you don't)...well, just have a look at this and tell me you wouldn't let him put a gloved hand anywhere he wanted to...
And then, of course, we have the other category:
Category B: black leather gloves
Again, first a demonstration:
Anyway, yes. Black leather gloves. Now this has another very specific backstory- it all goes back to when I was around 16 or 17, and I had this boyfriend who was always home alone. His parents would go out of town and leave him there by himself, so naturally, we would hang out there a lot. Well, as kids will do, we found his parents' porn stash one night and decided to check some of them out. And as it turns out, his parents were a couple of kinky fucks. Lots of BDSM and rough sex, and not much else. I think there may have been one of those Playboy Playmate of the Year videos which, as anybody who has ever seen one will know, was basically just one long-ass tease. So after watching about 5 seconds of that, we were both like, "Umm, fuck this", and put in one of the other vids.
The movie we watched was one of those ones with an actual plot, and people with speaking parts (real words, not just fucking noises), and it was about this rich bitch who had this pussy of a husband, and she was verbally belittling him for being such a wuss. So he decided to teach her a lesson by hiring some dude to act as a thief and break into the house while he was gone and scare the crap out of her (funny how in porn movies, there are always a surplus of dudes who are ready and willing to take on such a task, as though all he had to do was look in the Yellow Pages under "Rapists For Hire" or something.."Oh- look honey, this one's licensed AND bonded!").
So yeah...anyway, the dude decides to hide in the backseat of the car, which is in the garage, and waits for her to get in the car to go somewhere. And right on cue (imagine that!), she appears and gets in the driver's seat. Then, when she goes to adjust the rear view mirror (who does that while the car is still in the garage?), she sees him. She tries to scream, but before she can cry out, he claps his hand, encased in a perfect black leather glove, over her mouth. She struggles, her moans muffled by his palm, and he sticks two fingers in her mouth, telling her gruffly to shut up.
Then, as you can well imagine, he proceeds to violate the fuck out of her, all while wearing the black gloves. He fingers her with the gloves on (that's an image I will never get out of my head as long as it's attached to my body), and puts his gloved hands around her neck while railing the shit out of her. Then, when it's time for the money shot, he shoots his load into his gloved palm and wipes it across her dirty slut mouth. (Ok, I added the "dirty slut" part for effect, but I felt it was needed. And it just sounds dirtier.)
Yeah, take it, bitch...lick it off....
Anyhow, that's where that fetish comes from. So if you were offended or grossed out by that, then all I can say is, why did you bother to read all the way to this point? I mean, all the potentially offensive stuff is up there. ^^^^ Seems like if it was so horrible, you would have clutched your pearls to your chest and turned away in disgust long ago. But hey, who am I to judge? I can't exactly claim anybody is odd for doing or not doing anything, really.
So, kids, I guess the moral of this story is, sex and sexuality can mean many different things to many different people. Sometimes it can take the form of black nitrile, other times it can show up as a clown fetish. (And NO, I do not have a clown fetish. Unless you count the wish for mass annihilation of clowns to be a fetish.) The important thing to remember is that at some point you yourself may end up finding out that something out of the ordinary really gets your gears turning, and you won't necessarily know why. But you know what? That's totally ok. Really. It's totally fine to just let yourself be turned on by something that isn't conventionally "sexy"- hell, variety is the spice of life, right? So take those Isotoners that have been packed away since last winter, slap them on some night, and see what develops, You never know what might happen.
I just wouldn't recommend hiding in the back seat of the car, unless you want to get maced or something...
Monday, September 20, 2010
Poetry Corner
The Evangelist
The devil is rising inside you, rising, rising, rising.
He is going to make you do something true, something
sinister and surprising, something demonic and inviting.
The devil is doing his work through you, He isn't hiding.
You are to burn in the gates of hell: trillions of years,
millenniums, millenniums. Angels are going to mourn for you
in their white, white dresses. Harps will plink sad songs:
you're the one Peter erases: wrong, wrong, very wrong.
The devil is on your back, riding. The devil is on your back,
gliding. The devil is on your back, whispering words, words
that are heard: sinful, succulent, lascivious words, horror
sounds, coming, coming, rising through you, pitchforked
thumping, hurrying, your veins tubes, hurrying, thunder
ooze, tromp, tromp, tromp, the devil is taking you.
-Star Black (2007)
The devil is rising inside you, rising, rising, rising.
He is going to make you do something true, something
sinister and surprising, something demonic and inviting.
The devil is doing his work through you, He isn't hiding.
You are to burn in the gates of hell: trillions of years,
millenniums, millenniums. Angels are going to mourn for you
in their white, white dresses. Harps will plink sad songs:
you're the one Peter erases: wrong, wrong, very wrong.
The devil is on your back, riding. The devil is on your back,
gliding. The devil is on your back, whispering words, words
that are heard: sinful, succulent, lascivious words, horror
sounds, coming, coming, rising through you, pitchforked
thumping, hurrying, your veins tubes, hurrying, thunder
ooze, tromp, tromp, tromp, the devil is taking you.
-Star Black (2007)
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Not-So-Timely Movie Reviews: Jennifer's Body
Ok, so most of you out there who know me well enough to have ever watched a movie with me probably already know that I am quite possibly the least qualified person in the universe to review movies of any kind, seeing as how I usually have the exact opposite reaction to said movies as what was intended by the people who made them. That being said, I'm sure that anyone who knows me well enough would also know that not being qualified to do something isn't nearly enough of a reason for me to not attempt to do it. It's just not in my nature to care about (makes air quotes) "knowing what I'm talking about", or "making any sense", or "forming coherent thoughts". That would take time that would be better spent just letting things fly right off the top of my head, where they can't be filtered out by my "conscience". Censoring myself in that way would be like the literary equivalent of polishing a turd- it's not gonna make it any more pretty or socially acceptable, and you'll just end up with more of a shitty mess than you started with.
The funny thing about this whole movie-reviewing concept though, is that I'm not even that big of a movie fan. I never feel like I get my money's worth out of going to the theater- it's getting to the point where if movies get any more expensive, they're gonna have to start including some other form of entertainment in with the deal...
Robot Brain: ORAL SEX
Body: Stop that!! (rolls eyes)
*Ahem* Sorry about that, folks.
So, where was I? Oh right, movie reviews. I recently watched "Jennifer's Body" on Netflix, which is fast becoming my go-to movie vehicle of choice. Granted, I don't get to see them the second they come out, but really, who cares? I think having the luxury of being able to watch a movie in bed, possibly with someone else there to share it with...
Robot Brain: ORAL SEX ORAL SEX ORAL SEX
[(says to self) Just ignore it, and it will go away...]
......more than makes up for the fleeting feeling of superiority gained by being able to gloat to your friends about having seen the latest and greatest. And really, nobody cares about that anyway. If you're that guy, chances are your friends think you're a pompous jagoff, and they probably wish you'd fall into a bucket of aids and die. So let that be a lesson to you.
So- let's try this again: Jennifer's Body, which features the almost extra-terrestrial hotness that is Megan Fox, and to a lesser extent, Amanda Seyfried, is actually a pretty decent movie, although that's probably due in part to the fact that Megan Fox doesn't really have to act, per se. I mean, I guess technically she is, in that she was in front of a camera, supposedly playing the part of a fictional person, but I mean, come on. She plays a ridiculously hot girl who knows she's hot and can therefore get anything or anyone she wants because of it. And when she does speak, it's always some bullshit about how hot she is or how she can say/do/have anything she wants. So pretty much the way she is in real life, in other words. And when she's not "acting", she's often vomiting up some kind of unholy bilious sludge (just like what happens every time she speaks in interviews).
But in spite of all that, it still manages to be a pretty entertaining flick- it's got blood, some gore, demon possession, boy raping, death, the drool-worthy body of Megan Fox, and....oh yeah- GIRL KISSING. As in, hot girls, making out. With each other. Shot VERY close-up. Observe...
Awwwww yeeeeaaaaahhhhh.....that's what I'm talkin' about. Seriously though, the movie plot could just stop right here and devolve (or would it be evolve?) into a straight-up lesbian porn movie, and I wouldn't even care about finding out why she was a demon, or anything else. This 30 seconds or so of movie mastery alone is worth whatever price you may have to pay to see it (my Netflix subscription was my price of admission). I mean really, is there anything better than watching two girls who look like that, kissing? (Remember, this is my opinion here, and if you don't agree, well then you're fucking retarded, because that is not only my opinion, but it also happens to be a FACT.) And for that matter, has there ever been a more perfect movie to turn into a porno? It's already three-quarters of the way there! Just tweak the title to something slightly skankier sounding ("Jennifer's Butthole", perhaps?), throw in some d.p's and an extended all-cheerleader orgy, and we're talking AVN award winner, no problem. I swear, the porn industry people need to be listening to me. This shit is pure gold! Gold, I tell you!!!
**whew**
(straightens shirt, smooths down hair)
Well....ok then.....I may have gotten a little excited there, but you get my point. It's good shit.
So, in a nutshell, I'd have to give this movie.....hmmm, what should I give it? I don't want to be lame and use the "thumbs up" approach, but I also don't want to rate it based on a star scale, because that's what everybody else does. (drums fingers on desk) Hmmmmmm.......what can I give it??
Robot Brain: GIRLS KISSING GIRLS KISSING GIRLS KISSING
Hey, brain, for once, you've given me a good idea! Go figure!!
I give it two robot thumbs up!
The funny thing about this whole movie-reviewing concept though, is that I'm not even that big of a movie fan. I never feel like I get my money's worth out of going to the theater- it's getting to the point where if movies get any more expensive, they're gonna have to start including some other form of entertainment in with the deal...
Robot Brain: ORAL SEX
Body: Stop that!! (rolls eyes)
*Ahem* Sorry about that, folks.
So, where was I? Oh right, movie reviews. I recently watched "Jennifer's Body" on Netflix, which is fast becoming my go-to movie vehicle of choice. Granted, I don't get to see them the second they come out, but really, who cares? I think having the luxury of being able to watch a movie in bed, possibly with someone else there to share it with...
Robot Brain: ORAL SEX ORAL SEX ORAL SEX
[(says to self) Just ignore it, and it will go away...]
......more than makes up for the fleeting feeling of superiority gained by being able to gloat to your friends about having seen the latest and greatest. And really, nobody cares about that anyway. If you're that guy, chances are your friends think you're a pompous jagoff, and they probably wish you'd fall into a bucket of aids and die. So let that be a lesson to you.
So- let's try this again: Jennifer's Body, which features the almost extra-terrestrial hotness that is Megan Fox, and to a lesser extent, Amanda Seyfried, is actually a pretty decent movie, although that's probably due in part to the fact that Megan Fox doesn't really have to act, per se. I mean, I guess technically she is, in that she was in front of a camera, supposedly playing the part of a fictional person, but I mean, come on. She plays a ridiculously hot girl who knows she's hot and can therefore get anything or anyone she wants because of it. And when she does speak, it's always some bullshit about how hot she is or how she can say/do/have anything she wants. So pretty much the way she is in real life, in other words. And when she's not "acting", she's often vomiting up some kind of unholy bilious sludge (just like what happens every time she speaks in interviews).
But in spite of all that, it still manages to be a pretty entertaining flick- it's got blood, some gore, demon possession, boy raping, death, the drool-worthy body of Megan Fox, and....oh yeah- GIRL KISSING. As in, hot girls, making out. With each other. Shot VERY close-up. Observe...
**whew**
(straightens shirt, smooths down hair)
Well....ok then.....I may have gotten a little excited there, but you get my point. It's good shit.
So, in a nutshell, I'd have to give this movie.....hmmm, what should I give it? I don't want to be lame and use the "thumbs up" approach, but I also don't want to rate it based on a star scale, because that's what everybody else does. (drums fingers on desk) Hmmmmmm.......what can I give it??
Robot Brain: GIRLS KISSING GIRLS KISSING GIRLS KISSING
Hey, brain, for once, you've given me a good idea! Go figure!!
I give it two robot thumbs up!
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Just something I happened to notice...
You know, it's funny how sometimes you can be doing something that you do all the time, and yet for some reason, you suddenly see it differently. Like, some unknown variable causes your perception to shift just so, and then all of a sudden you're not just looking at the same old thing. It happens to people a lot when they're under stress, or meditating, or even in the presence of the majestic and elusive double rainbow (snickers derisively), but for me, it happened recently when I was looking at internet porn (hey, don't judge me motherfuckers, I don't get much excitement from fucking rainbows, okay? Besides, you do it too, don't even try to act like you don't).
Anyhoo, I was checking out both PornHub and Red Tube, and I noticed something: if you do a search for "threesomes", or some variation of the term, you get almost exclusively clips of girl-guy-girl action. But no guy-girl-guy stuff at all. I'm sorry, but isn't that still a three-way? (counts to self) Yep, I count three people. Huh. Am I the only one that finds that odd?
But, it's not that those types of videos aren't on there- oh yes, they most certainly are. But you know what search term you have to use? Anyone? (looks for raised hands) Nobody? (sighs) Alright, I'll tell you, but this will be on the test later. Type in "double penetration"- yeah, that's right. That's where the little buggers (ha- pun intended) are hiding out. Yep, apparently somebody thought that the guy-girl-guy threesome doesn't actually exist unless there's double plugging involved. (Ew, did I just say that? God...) I mean, I'm not disputing the fact that the act is separate and distinct from your run-of-the-mill three way, but why not have the non-double-stuff action listed with all the other multiple partner clips, in the interest of fairness and gender equality? I dunno, something about that just doesn't sit right with me. It gets my feminist hackles all bristly.
So yeah, I didn't really have anything else to say beyond that, but it was just something I noticed and felt needed to be brought to light. Hey, if nobody ever questions these things, then how are they supposed to get changed? How are we, as a society, supposed to move forward and become more liberated if we are still conforming to outdated gender roles? And more importantly, how are we supposed to be able to find the porn we want to see if it's not where we expect it to be? Come on now people, I can't be the only one who's outraged (perhaps that's a bit strong) by this.
........What? Whaddya mean, why was I looking for threeway porn anyway? Um.....nothing....I mean, no reason.......uhhhh....(looks around nervously).....
(shifts around uncomfortably in seat )
Hey, look over there! (points out window) A brontosaurus!!
(runs away)
Anyhoo, I was checking out both PornHub and Red Tube, and I noticed something: if you do a search for "threesomes", or some variation of the term, you get almost exclusively clips of girl-guy-girl action. But no guy-girl-guy stuff at all. I'm sorry, but isn't that still a three-way? (counts to self) Yep, I count three people. Huh. Am I the only one that finds that odd?
But, it's not that those types of videos aren't on there- oh yes, they most certainly are. But you know what search term you have to use? Anyone? (looks for raised hands) Nobody? (sighs) Alright, I'll tell you, but this will be on the test later. Type in "double penetration"- yeah, that's right. That's where the little buggers (ha- pun intended) are hiding out. Yep, apparently somebody thought that the guy-girl-guy threesome doesn't actually exist unless there's double plugging involved. (Ew, did I just say that? God...) I mean, I'm not disputing the fact that the act is separate and distinct from your run-of-the-mill three way, but why not have the non-double-stuff action listed with all the other multiple partner clips, in the interest of fairness and gender equality? I dunno, something about that just doesn't sit right with me. It gets my feminist hackles all bristly.
So yeah, I didn't really have anything else to say beyond that, but it was just something I noticed and felt needed to be brought to light. Hey, if nobody ever questions these things, then how are they supposed to get changed? How are we, as a society, supposed to move forward and become more liberated if we are still conforming to outdated gender roles? And more importantly, how are we supposed to be able to find the porn we want to see if it's not where we expect it to be? Come on now people, I can't be the only one who's outraged (perhaps that's a bit strong) by this.
........What? Whaddya mean, why was I looking for threeway porn anyway? Um.....nothing....I mean, no reason.......uhhhh....(looks around nervously).....
(shifts around uncomfortably in seat )
Hey, look over there! (points out window) A brontosaurus!!
(runs away)
Monday, September 13, 2010
If girls aren't supposed to have balls, then what the hell are these blue things??
DISCLAIMER: THE FOLLOWING RANT MAY NOT BE SUITABLE FOR THE FOLLOWING- MEMBERS OF MY IMMEDIATE FAMILY, PEOPLE WHOSE OPINIONS OF ME DEPEND HEAVILY ON THEIR ABILITY TO BELIEVE THAT I'M NOT A DEPRAVED PERVERT, CHILDREN UNDER THE AGE OF 10 (I'M PRETTY LIBERAL), PEOPLE WITH HEART CONDITIONS, RECOVERING SEX ADDICTS, LITTLE OLD LADIES, PEOPLE WHO SAY "CHEESE AND CRACKERS" IN PLACE OF REAL SWEAR WORDS, AND MOST IMPORTANTLY, PEOPLE WHO ARE ON THE VERGE OF COMMITTING A SEX CRIME BECAUSE THEY'RE MORE SEXUALLY FRUSTRATED THAN I AM. SERIOUSLY, BATTEN DOWN THE FUCKING HATCHES, MATES, SHIT IS ABOUT TO GET REAL...
(takes deep breath and exhales)
I. Need. To. Get. Laid.
I know- who doesn't, right? Waah wahh waah, world's smallest violin, blah blah. I get it. I'm not expecting to get much sympathy from people, especially since according to my informal Facebook poll, apparently a lot of you sorry bastards either aren't getting any as well, or have endured droughts of near biblical proportions at one point or another. I dunno how you all do it (or don't do it, as it were). It's only been a couple of weeks for me, and I'm climbing the walls. I'm about as one-track-minded as you can possibly get right now. It's like, my brain is only reluctantly willing to work on other things, and even then, it's not really interested. It's kind of like this:
(morning alarm goes off)
Brain (in evil robot voice): HOLY SHIT, SEX DREAM, THAT WAS AWESOME. WANT SEX WANT SEX WANT SEX WANT SEX WANT SEX WANT SEX
(3 hours later)
Brain: WANT SEX WANT SEX WANT SEX (work, barely) WANT SEX WANT SEX
(lunchtime)
Brain: HOW CAN YOU THINK ABOUT FOOD AT A TIME LIKE THIS YOU FUCKER YOU KNOW WHAT YOU WANT TO EAT AND IT'S NOT FOOD IT'S DICK, ISN'T IT, YOU DIRTY WHORE!?!
(late afternoon)
Brain: WANT SEX WANT SEX WANT SEX (work a little, getting sleepy, eyelids drooping) WANT MONSTER DRINK FOR ENERGY...MUST REFUEL...
(pounds entire can)
Brain: WANT SEX WANT SEX WANT SEX VERY HYPER WANT SEEEEEEXXXXXXXX
(head explodes)
So yeah...that's what's going on in there lately. It's not a pretty thing to be a party to. But it only gets worse. I keep putting myself in situations where I could possibly be able to have sex, or make plans to have sex, but I end up basically cock-blocking myself with my own eagerness.
Case in point: the other weekend, I was without plans (because really, I am not fit to be around the general public right now), but I also didn't want to sit inside all day and teach myself how to play World of Warcraft. Sorry all you gamers out there, but that's a dark tunnel that I do NOT want to venture down. Anyway, I got the idea that I wanted to get a new tattoo. I decided to go to a shop where I've been tattooed before, but it was a couple of years ago. It was one of those spur-of-the-moment decisions, where I was like, "I can do whatever I want- I don't have to answer to any man, if I wanna get a tattoo today I'm gonna, and you (pointing to no one in particular) can't stop me!!"
So I went in there, and I immediately recognized the guy who did my chest piece. Although it would be hard not to remember him- tall, lanky, blue eyes (one of my weird fetishes), devilish grin, and of course, heavily tattooed. He remembered me too, and I told him that I wanted this little tattoo behind my ear that wouldn't take very long, but I wanted it today. Unfortunately, he was busy, but he turned me over to another artist in the shop. So up jumps another guy- this one I didn't know, but goddamn- he's short (a major weird fetish of mine, don't ask why, but it's on in full effect), dark hair, extremely light blue eyes (heart flutters), scruffy facial hair (other things flutter), and the grin of Satan himself. Oh, and heavily tattooed as well. I mean, this guy could have been the worst fucking tattoo artist in the world and I wouldn't have cared. Hell, that just means I would have had to keep coming back for touch-ups, which wouldn't be so bad, as long as he kept putting his hands around my neck (yes, another weird fetish).
And so, the whole time he was tattooing me, I flirted with him mercilessly. We joked about a bunch of things, but, as is prone to happen in a tattoo shop (if you've ever hung out in one for any length of time, you know what I mean), sex figured in heavily. We talked about porn, and pretty much whatever other subjects came to mind that were sex-related, and for some reason I volunteered the information that I get extremely turned on by the black surgical gloves that tattoo artists sometimes wear. After the tattoo was done, he started telling me about his admiration for Jeremy Fish (the artist whose images I've used for a lot of my tattoos), and how he really wants to have a big tattoo like that in his portfolio. So of course, I said I'd be glad to let him use my body for his artistic endeavors (heh. artistic. right...) During this whole time, I had the feeling in my stomach like you get when you're clicking up the big first hill in a rollercoaster, filled with both the thrill of the unknown and the uneasy feeling of being faced with the possibility that you're going to die at any moment........ oh, and you're also extremely horny.
So he gives me his card, and writes his normal schedule on it, and says I should email him so we can discuss what image would be good to use. He says it was really fun having me in the shop hanging out, and that I should come back again to do the same some time in the future, all while giving me the grin from hell (in a good way). He also did a lot of that 'making-up-an-excuse-to-touch-you' kind of flirtatious thing, and every time he did, my mind would float away a little more. I think he may have also said something about how doing my little bitty tattoo made his day, but I'm not entirely sure because I think at that point something began to backfire inside my head....
Brain: ERRRRRRR.........TOO MUCH STIMULATION........ERROR- ERROR- ERROR
Body: (which, up to this moment, has remained vibrating in silence) Shut up! You're going to ruin everything!!
Brain: SYNTAX ERROR E0224854GS- CHECK MANUAL FOR CODE
Body: Goddammit! We are so not getting fucked now....(sighs)
Brain: ***SYSTEM FAILURE ***
So at this point, my robot brain is pretty much checked out. I'm through the looking glass here, people. I know I talked to him some more, and I also talked to the other guy who did my chest piece about touching it up (holy Christ on a cracker, he was the one who got me started on the whole black glove thing, practically choking me out while wearing those, drilling away on my clavicle as I lay writhing in painful ecstasy on a massage table...good times indeed), but I felt like I was having an out-of-body experience. All I could think about was how I need to find a way to get sex out of this situation. Unfortunately, without my brain in service, my body had no way of getting by on its own unless I were to just literally attack either of these guys and girl-rape them (Is that even possible?). And it wasn't even closing time yet, so that probably wasn't good for business. At least not the business of tattooing, anyway. I probably could have made at least a hundred bucks just from letting people watch though, I bet...
But, kiddies, this story doesn't have a happy ending (pun definitely intended). There was no sex-having, just a boatload of innuendo and a shit-ton of my brain getting way too far ahead of me until its inevitable burnout. (And now my hair still smells like burnt wiring.) Will it ever happen? Hmm....I sure as hell hope so, but honestly though, I don't even know what to hope for- there are so many possible outcomes that play out in my head that it's hard to pick just one. All I know is that I need to go back there for more. I just need to remember to purposely set my brain on half power next time to prevent overheating. I think at this point, my body needs to have a chance to do it's thing without my pesky intellect getting in the way. See, that's where I always fuck up- I get overwhelmed by the buffet of possible things that could happen, and then because I'm greedy, I try to find a way to get the best of everything, and instead of just letting things happen the way they're going to happen, I try to control it all and end up just fucking myself over. Which is kind of funny, because I have a feeling I'm going to be doing a lot of that in the near future.......
.....fucking myself, that is.....
*facepalm*
I'm gonna go sit on top of the dryer while it's in the spin cycle now......later kids.....
(takes deep breath and exhales)
I. Need. To. Get. Laid.
I know- who doesn't, right? Waah wahh waah, world's smallest violin, blah blah. I get it. I'm not expecting to get much sympathy from people, especially since according to my informal Facebook poll, apparently a lot of you sorry bastards either aren't getting any as well, or have endured droughts of near biblical proportions at one point or another. I dunno how you all do it (or don't do it, as it were). It's only been a couple of weeks for me, and I'm climbing the walls. I'm about as one-track-minded as you can possibly get right now. It's like, my brain is only reluctantly willing to work on other things, and even then, it's not really interested. It's kind of like this:
(morning alarm goes off)
Brain (in evil robot voice): HOLY SHIT, SEX DREAM, THAT WAS AWESOME. WANT SEX WANT SEX WANT SEX WANT SEX WANT SEX WANT SEX
(3 hours later)
Brain: WANT SEX WANT SEX WANT SEX (work, barely) WANT SEX WANT SEX
(lunchtime)
Brain: HOW CAN YOU THINK ABOUT FOOD AT A TIME LIKE THIS YOU FUCKER YOU KNOW WHAT YOU WANT TO EAT AND IT'S NOT FOOD IT'S DICK, ISN'T IT, YOU DIRTY WHORE!?!
(late afternoon)
Brain: WANT SEX WANT SEX WANT SEX (work a little, getting sleepy, eyelids drooping) WANT MONSTER DRINK FOR ENERGY...MUST REFUEL...
(pounds entire can)
Brain: WANT SEX WANT SEX WANT SEX VERY HYPER WANT SEEEEEEXXXXXXXX
(head explodes)
So yeah...that's what's going on in there lately. It's not a pretty thing to be a party to. But it only gets worse. I keep putting myself in situations where I could possibly be able to have sex, or make plans to have sex, but I end up basically cock-blocking myself with my own eagerness.
Case in point: the other weekend, I was without plans (because really, I am not fit to be around the general public right now), but I also didn't want to sit inside all day and teach myself how to play World of Warcraft. Sorry all you gamers out there, but that's a dark tunnel that I do NOT want to venture down. Anyway, I got the idea that I wanted to get a new tattoo. I decided to go to a shop where I've been tattooed before, but it was a couple of years ago. It was one of those spur-of-the-moment decisions, where I was like, "I can do whatever I want- I don't have to answer to any man, if I wanna get a tattoo today I'm gonna, and you (pointing to no one in particular) can't stop me!!"
So I went in there, and I immediately recognized the guy who did my chest piece. Although it would be hard not to remember him- tall, lanky, blue eyes (one of my weird fetishes), devilish grin, and of course, heavily tattooed. He remembered me too, and I told him that I wanted this little tattoo behind my ear that wouldn't take very long, but I wanted it today. Unfortunately, he was busy, but he turned me over to another artist in the shop. So up jumps another guy- this one I didn't know, but goddamn- he's short (a major weird fetish of mine, don't ask why, but it's on in full effect), dark hair, extremely light blue eyes (heart flutters), scruffy facial hair (other things flutter), and the grin of Satan himself. Oh, and heavily tattooed as well. I mean, this guy could have been the worst fucking tattoo artist in the world and I wouldn't have cared. Hell, that just means I would have had to keep coming back for touch-ups, which wouldn't be so bad, as long as he kept putting his hands around my neck (yes, another weird fetish).
And so, the whole time he was tattooing me, I flirted with him mercilessly. We joked about a bunch of things, but, as is prone to happen in a tattoo shop (if you've ever hung out in one for any length of time, you know what I mean), sex figured in heavily. We talked about porn, and pretty much whatever other subjects came to mind that were sex-related, and for some reason I volunteered the information that I get extremely turned on by the black surgical gloves that tattoo artists sometimes wear. After the tattoo was done, he started telling me about his admiration for Jeremy Fish (the artist whose images I've used for a lot of my tattoos), and how he really wants to have a big tattoo like that in his portfolio. So of course, I said I'd be glad to let him use my body for his artistic endeavors (heh. artistic. right...) During this whole time, I had the feeling in my stomach like you get when you're clicking up the big first hill in a rollercoaster, filled with both the thrill of the unknown and the uneasy feeling of being faced with the possibility that you're going to die at any moment........ oh, and you're also extremely horny.
So he gives me his card, and writes his normal schedule on it, and says I should email him so we can discuss what image would be good to use. He says it was really fun having me in the shop hanging out, and that I should come back again to do the same some time in the future, all while giving me the grin from hell (in a good way). He also did a lot of that 'making-up-an-excuse-to-touch-you' kind of flirtatious thing, and every time he did, my mind would float away a little more. I think he may have also said something about how doing my little bitty tattoo made his day, but I'm not entirely sure because I think at that point something began to backfire inside my head....
Brain: ERRRRRRR.........TOO MUCH STIMULATION........ERROR- ERROR- ERROR
Body: (which, up to this moment, has remained vibrating in silence) Shut up! You're going to ruin everything!!
Brain: SYNTAX ERROR E0224854GS- CHECK MANUAL FOR CODE
Body: Goddammit! We are so not getting fucked now....(sighs)
Brain: ***SYSTEM FAILURE ***
So at this point, my robot brain is pretty much checked out. I'm through the looking glass here, people. I know I talked to him some more, and I also talked to the other guy who did my chest piece about touching it up (holy Christ on a cracker, he was the one who got me started on the whole black glove thing, practically choking me out while wearing those, drilling away on my clavicle as I lay writhing in painful ecstasy on a massage table...good times indeed), but I felt like I was having an out-of-body experience. All I could think about was how I need to find a way to get sex out of this situation. Unfortunately, without my brain in service, my body had no way of getting by on its own unless I were to just literally attack either of these guys and girl-rape them (Is that even possible?). And it wasn't even closing time yet, so that probably wasn't good for business. At least not the business of tattooing, anyway. I probably could have made at least a hundred bucks just from letting people watch though, I bet...
But, kiddies, this story doesn't have a happy ending (pun definitely intended). There was no sex-having, just a boatload of innuendo and a shit-ton of my brain getting way too far ahead of me until its inevitable burnout. (And now my hair still smells like burnt wiring.) Will it ever happen? Hmm....I sure as hell hope so, but honestly though, I don't even know what to hope for- there are so many possible outcomes that play out in my head that it's hard to pick just one. All I know is that I need to go back there for more. I just need to remember to purposely set my brain on half power next time to prevent overheating. I think at this point, my body needs to have a chance to do it's thing without my pesky intellect getting in the way. See, that's where I always fuck up- I get overwhelmed by the buffet of possible things that could happen, and then because I'm greedy, I try to find a way to get the best of everything, and instead of just letting things happen the way they're going to happen, I try to control it all and end up just fucking myself over. Which is kind of funny, because I have a feeling I'm going to be doing a lot of that in the near future.......
.....fucking myself, that is.....
*facepalm*
I'm gonna go sit on top of the dryer while it's in the spin cycle now......later kids.....
Saturday, September 11, 2010
In Honor of Caturday
Hey, I told you there would be cat-related content here, so don't act all surprised. But, I decided to ease you into it by showing you just how awesome cats can be, even when they're not just laying around being cute. These are some serious athletes- they make that french, building-climbing, spider-man guy look like an amateur. These cats don't need no stinkin' climbing gear- they have everything they need right at their disposal. Check it out:
Now that's what I call making the most of your Caturday. Obviously those cats are highly motivated and skilled at traversing rugged outdoor terrain. But, not everybody shares the same interests. For example, if you're like my cat Peppie, your Caturday might look a little more like this:
To each his (or her) own, I guess...
 |
| From Crazytown |
Friday, September 10, 2010
And so it begins (or ends, as it were)...
Well, where to start...the beginning of any endeavor is always the hardest, whether it's getting the first words of a giant term paper down so that it's no longer a blank page looming over you, or whether it's making the flight reservation to go on a trip you've always wanted to go on but could never justify, or in my case, starting life over as an unattached (I refuse to use the term "single") person after many, many years of couple-hood and cohabitation with several long-term boyfriends, pretty much one right after another.
If I'm guilty of anything, it's wanting to love someone so badly that I will go way (I mean, WAAAY) out of my way to do so, even when doing it is not in my own best interest. Man, now that I see it written down like that, I guess I don't feel guilty so much as embarrassed that I do it. It's not like there's necessarily anything wrong with wanting to give love, but when you're like me, the compulsion to give is rooted in the overwhelming desire to BE loved. The two are inextricable. When you're like me, you always think to yourself, "Things might not be perfect, but if I just show him that I'm here for him and that I love him no matter what, maybe he'll realize what a great girl he has. Maybe, just maybe, he'll suddenly see that he's been taking me for granted all along, and he'll gather me up into his arms, look deeply into my eyes with a combination of awe and raw emotion, and profess his undying love and loyalty to me." But unfortunately when you're actually me, what happens is that you get unceremoniously dumped without so much as an explanation as to why. (Unless you consider "It's just not the right fit" to be an explanation.)
So yeah...that's pretty much it in a nutshell. Four years of my life, wasted on trying to love someone who wasn't going to love me, no matter what I did, said, or gave to him. Am I a little bitter? No.....I'm a LOT bitter. Do I think it's for the best? Well, it's kind of hard to give a good opinion of that, considering that I'm currently writing this from my bedroom (much smaller than my old one) in an apartment (which doesn't feel at all like home) in a city full of people whom I know (but all have lives and partners of their own who they would rather hang out with). I guess if I had to say anything good about it right now, it's that I don't have to listen to the buzzsaw-like snoring of the ex-boyfriend all goddamn night, and I can actually make dinner at night and have leftovers the next day because there isn't a human trash compactor eating the food I was planning on taking to work for lunch. Small consolation, I know. But at a time like this, I have to grab on to any bit of hope that I can find that things will eventually get better, or I won't stand a chance of getting over it and moving on.
God, I just read this over and realized how much it totally sucks out loud. Who in their right mind starts a blog with a maudlin, whiny post about a breakup? Talk about stacking the deck against myself. I guess I should have titled this blog Emo-town or something more appropriate to the subject matter at hand. I could have used a background picture of a person slitting their wrists too, just to put the metaphorical cherry on top of this sundae of sadness. Mmmmm.....sundaes. Now I want ice cream. But to keep with the theme, I'll make sure to eat it with a razor blade....it's what the sad clowns of the world would want. And believe you me, you don't want to fuck around with sad clowns. They will fuck your shit up.
Oh, by the way, I am totally planning on writing funnier stuff- really I am. You'll just have to give me some time to warm up and really get going. Once I do though, look out- it's gonna be all dick jokes and fart jokes and.......well, dick and fart jokes, mostly. But it will be funny! (Hopefully.)
Wait, where are you going? Please come back- I promise, I can make it work! Don't walk away- I love you! You're my everything!! Hey, I said DON'T walk away, asshole. Fine then, fuck you. Me and the sad clowns are gonna eat ice cream with razors and you're not invited! Yeah, that's right, we don't need you anyway....eat a dick, fucker....
(cuts lip on razor blade) Aww, fuck....who put strawberry sauce in my sundae? I hate strawberry sauce.... (cries) Fuck you clowns. You guys suck. This is why everybody hates you, you know...
[END SCENE]
If I'm guilty of anything, it's wanting to love someone so badly that I will go way (I mean, WAAAY) out of my way to do so, even when doing it is not in my own best interest. Man, now that I see it written down like that, I guess I don't feel guilty so much as embarrassed that I do it. It's not like there's necessarily anything wrong with wanting to give love, but when you're like me, the compulsion to give is rooted in the overwhelming desire to BE loved. The two are inextricable. When you're like me, you always think to yourself, "Things might not be perfect, but if I just show him that I'm here for him and that I love him no matter what, maybe he'll realize what a great girl he has. Maybe, just maybe, he'll suddenly see that he's been taking me for granted all along, and he'll gather me up into his arms, look deeply into my eyes with a combination of awe and raw emotion, and profess his undying love and loyalty to me." But unfortunately when you're actually me, what happens is that you get unceremoniously dumped without so much as an explanation as to why. (Unless you consider "It's just not the right fit" to be an explanation.)
So yeah...that's pretty much it in a nutshell. Four years of my life, wasted on trying to love someone who wasn't going to love me, no matter what I did, said, or gave to him. Am I a little bitter? No.....I'm a LOT bitter. Do I think it's for the best? Well, it's kind of hard to give a good opinion of that, considering that I'm currently writing this from my bedroom (much smaller than my old one) in an apartment (which doesn't feel at all like home) in a city full of people whom I know (but all have lives and partners of their own who they would rather hang out with). I guess if I had to say anything good about it right now, it's that I don't have to listen to the buzzsaw-like snoring of the ex-boyfriend all goddamn night, and I can actually make dinner at night and have leftovers the next day because there isn't a human trash compactor eating the food I was planning on taking to work for lunch. Small consolation, I know. But at a time like this, I have to grab on to any bit of hope that I can find that things will eventually get better, or I won't stand a chance of getting over it and moving on.
God, I just read this over and realized how much it totally sucks out loud. Who in their right mind starts a blog with a maudlin, whiny post about a breakup? Talk about stacking the deck against myself. I guess I should have titled this blog Emo-town or something more appropriate to the subject matter at hand. I could have used a background picture of a person slitting their wrists too, just to put the metaphorical cherry on top of this sundae of sadness. Mmmmm.....sundaes. Now I want ice cream. But to keep with the theme, I'll make sure to eat it with a razor blade....it's what the sad clowns of the world would want. And believe you me, you don't want to fuck around with sad clowns. They will fuck your shit up.
Oh, by the way, I am totally planning on writing funnier stuff- really I am. You'll just have to give me some time to warm up and really get going. Once I do though, look out- it's gonna be all dick jokes and fart jokes and.......well, dick and fart jokes, mostly. But it will be funny! (Hopefully.)
Wait, where are you going? Please come back- I promise, I can make it work! Don't walk away- I love you! You're my everything!! Hey, I said DON'T walk away, asshole. Fine then, fuck you. Me and the sad clowns are gonna eat ice cream with razors and you're not invited! Yeah, that's right, we don't need you anyway....eat a dick, fucker....
(cuts lip on razor blade) Aww, fuck....who put strawberry sauce in my sundae? I hate strawberry sauce.... (cries) Fuck you clowns. You guys suck. This is why everybody hates you, you know...
[END SCENE]
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)